


Memento Mori

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ... Abbegail just really likes End Martin, 3 gifts because: Based on a prompt from Aodh, ALSO Major character death ain't like. Sad I was just being careful, And I can't figure out if that's better or worse, Angst, Based on a post from Jaime, Canon Asexual Character, End!Martin, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fun fact: the word death is used 18 times in this!, I have more ideas for this universe so mayhaps sequel? Who knows, M/M, Set in the S3 Coma, There's 2 whole McElroys references in this because I couldn't stop myself, They're both technically dead so it's just discussion of that, Working title was 'embracing death'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: ‘Am I dead?’The figure laughed, straightening up, and began a casual amble towards him. ‘Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? By all accounts you… Definitely should be. Which is why I’m here.’‘I suppose you’re Death then?’ he said, but the words sound skeptical on his tongue. The man looked…. Normal. Jon might even call him pretty, if he were the sort to do so. His blonde hair curling lightly, framing his face and calm blue green eyes, and the soft, amused smile he gave Jon. He was wearing a knitted jumper, admittedly in black, faded jeans, and Jon really didn’t want to confront the possibility that he was meeting the grim reaper and he was wearing converse.





	Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spacefiasco (ColourlessCharacter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColourlessCharacter/gifts), [pitchblackkoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitchblackkoi/gifts), [abbeghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeghoul/gifts).

> Based on the tumblr prompt 'Am I dead?' which got entirely out of hand and took over a month to complete in the end  
Also based on @pitchblackkoi's wonderful 'Martin as avatars of other entities' post https://pitchblackkoi.tumblr.com/post/185780777730/martin-as-an-avatar-of-the-powers-with-the-eye
> 
> We post unbeta'd and die like men so any edits will be fixed tomorrow if I can be bothered at all (It's 2am y'all why do I keep doing this to myself)

He thought it was another dream, at first. That the swirling forms around him were the clouds common of the Vast, or the fog summoned by the Lonely. It takes him a moment to realise he can move. Jaw clicking from disuse as he slowly tests it, before taking a tentative step forward. 

This time, there is a figure watching _ him _. 

He’s standing some distance away, leaning casually against what appears to be the nothingness around them, solidified. 

Jon coughs, mouth dry from disuse, before cupping a hand to the side of his face. He calls across the absence. 

‘_ Am I dead? _’

The figure laughed, straightening up, and began a casual amble towards him. ‘Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? By all accounts you… Definitely should be. Which is why I’m here.’

‘I suppose you’re Death then?’ he said, but the words sound skeptical on his tongue. The man looked…. Normal. Jon might even call him pretty, if he were the sort to do so. His blonde hair curling lightly, framing his face and calm blue green eyes, and the soft, amused smile he gave Jon. He was wearing a knitted jumper, admittedly in black, faded jeans, and Jon really didn’t want to confront the possibility that he was meeting the grim reaper and he was wearing _ converse _. 

‘In a sense, but not quite. To become Death fully, well, that’s my patron’s domain. I just serve them. I’m a sort of… Middle man, I suppose. Or customer service. Just with the service being… death.’ 

Jon arched an eyebrow. ‘And I’m the problem case you’ve been assigned?’

‘You, Jonathan Sims, are an _ oddity _.’ He stuck out a hand, ‘You can call me Martin.’ 

Jon’s scar throbbed. He didn’t take it. 

Martin sighed dramatically before putting the hand back in his pocket. ‘Fair enough.’ 

‘... So why am I not dead?’ 

‘To put it simply, something doesn’t want you to be. Your god, the Eye, stepped in when you decided to play big damn hero and let a wax museum fall on you. Which is par the course for this kind of thing, really, someone entity touched gives in to that final call and succumbs to whatever horrifying song their god is singing. Thing is, you… Didn’t do that. You didn’t _ want _apotheosis. But you didn’t reject it, either. So now you’re here in- Well I suppose it could be charitably called ‘limbo’. 

‘So what happens now?’ 

Martin shrugged. ‘Search me. Haven’t seen it before myself, and Terminus isn’t really one for sharing information that easy, least in comparison to yours.’ 

‘So I’m just… stuck here, then? Until I make my “_ Choice” _?’ Jon said. He tugged at the edge of his hospital gown, the air around him a cool neutral, but still raising goosebumps on his skin.

‘You’ll probably go back to… Wherever you were beforehand, first. I’m intervening in that, slightly. Hijacking the frequency. You dream, don’t you? About the statements?’ 

Jon’s mouth was dry. He nodded. ‘Yes. I can’t- It’s not like this. I can’t… Move, there. Or do much of anything, really. Just… Watch,’ he gave a nervous chuckle, ‘this is a respite, almost.’ 

‘Happy to be of some use then.’ Martin smiled, and it was… Soft, and nice, and his teeth were bleached white like bone, which Jon supposed they were.

Then the static picked up in his brain, and the surrounding vagueness shifted to nothingness shifted to familiar nightmare. 

* * *

Martin informed him that it had been a week since they first spoke. Jon was standing once again in the real and yet unreal place where they met, brushing hair out of his face that he was now realising was quite a bit longer than he last remembered, curling at the back and tickling his neck. 

‘Still not come to a decision?’ 

‘Obviously not,’ Jon replied, sounding somewhat bitter. 

Martin paused, an awkwardness settling in his posture, before saying, ‘Do you want to-uh- talk? About it?’ 

‘What, the angel of death is going to give me life advice? Seems a bit ironic. Or do you just want me out of your hair?’ 

‘Angel of death…’ Martin echoed quietly, seemingly focusing entirely on the part Jon would least expect. ‘Now that’s a new one.’ 

Jon raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you get nicknames often?’

Martin shook his head. ‘No, no, not really. It’s just, usually when I do, it’s more ‘The Grim Reaper’ and ‘The Black Death’ and ‘Oh God, Oh Fuck, What The Shit Is That’. None of them the most flattering in comparison. The former is probably the most accurate but the latter is the most common.’ 

Jon’s eyebrow remained arched. ‘Seems a bit of an overreaction? I mean, vaguely goth barista isn’t the most intimidating look. Plus you’ve still got the whole… Cherubic thing going on. Seems a bit unfair, Corruption avatars becoming living hives but End one’s get to look like they fell off the roof of the sistine chapel, but I suppose that makes a sort of sense.’ 

Martin stuttered, face going as red as it could while still maintaining a corpse like pallor. ‘What? Oh- No this is just. This is just- Me. When I’m on- uh- official business, as it were, I’m usually a little more… Spectral. This is just, uh, what I normally look like. Person wise not- not avatar wise.’ 

‘Oh.’ Jon could practically feel his brain blue screening, crashing after trying desperately to find a way to seem like that_ wasn’t, _in retrospect, a creepy thing to say. He opted to just ignore the situation entirely, and focus on a specific detail. He was rather good at that, both ignoring important situations and focusing on irrelevant details. ‘... Spectral?’ 

Martin grimaced. ‘The uh, classic look. The trope had to come from somewhere, I suppose.’ 

And, as it often did, Jon’s curiosity overtook what little social etiquette he had, ‘Can I- Uh. Can I see?’ 

Thankfully it was met with a laugh, not as good as a ‘Yes’, but better than a negative. He realised he should be more careful, really, about pissing off something that held such power over his state of being. 

‘Maybe someday, if you’re still kicking around in here. But it’s not the most… Pleasant, to look at.’ 

Jon nodded. ‘That would make sense.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Back to topic. I think so. But I wouldn’t quite know where to start. I think-’

And then the world was gone again, and he was standing in a field of graves, only company Naomi Herne’s choking sobs.

* * *

The third time he emerged from the dreams, Martin was holding something. 

‘You looked cold,’ he said, handing it over. 

It was a jumper, soft and thick, heavy knitted wool weaving together in shades of blue and grey. It was comically large on his gaunt frame. He wrapped his arms around himself, sleeves spilling over his hands, but letting the warming comfort envelope him. 

Then a thought struck him. 

‘Is… Is this yours?’ 

And there it was again, the faint colouring of Martin’s faded cheeks, rising up his neck, too, and covering the tips of his ears. ‘Well, yeah. Would hardly be someone else’s. Just thought you’d appreciate something that wasn’t hospital standard.’ 

‘No, no I do,’ Jon hastily replied. ‘It’s… I’m very grateful, thank you.’

Martin smiled, somehow softer again this time, more private and less like a well rehearsed routine. This was routine, Jon supposed. The same way statements were his. You got used to it, the comfortable horror, relaxing into a practised ease. He didn’t suppose bringing a jumper - _ his jumper _\- to comfort someone walking the thin line between living and deceased was routine though. He clutched the baggy wool tighter. 

‘We should probably get to that talk,’ Jon continued. He paused, calling to mind his first sight of Martin, leaning against their surroundings like it held a physical presence. ‘Does- Is there somewhere we can sit?’ 

‘Oh, of course, sure,’ Martin said, gesturing behind him. Jon turned, and the nothingness had risen into a slab, like a crude imitation of a sofa. He hadn’t been expecting a desk set exactly, but it wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He was grateful, regardless. ‘Thank you.’ 

He perched himself on the edge of a concept, and Martin followed him over to do the same. It felt oddly mundane, both sitting awkwardly, posture rigid, one avatar of a world bending fear to another, potential, avatar of a world bending fear. 

He eventually broke the silence. ‘It just- Scares me.’ 

‘Dying?’ 

‘Oddly? No,’ Jon chuckled. ‘Dying is… I’ve never valued my own life, that much, to be perfectly honest. Never in a reckless way, just neutral to it, really. Apathetic to existence. What frightens me is… What I’ll be if I do wake up. Because as unafraid of just- _ Ceasing _ as I am, I want to continue. Not in a ‘I’m afraid of death so want to live’ way, more in a… There’s this _ calling _. To go and do something. To become something. And I don’t know if I want to fulfil that.’ 

Martin made a soft ‘Hm’. ‘Well, that’s avatarhood for you, not sure what to tell you. Pass back to the land of the living isn’t free.’ 

‘Nothing in life is, I suppose,’ was the grumbled response. 

‘Pessimist are we?’ Martin replied lightly. 

Jon gave a ‘Hrmph’. There was a dip, before his voice took on a shaky quality. ‘How- How did you do it? Choose the End?’

His response was blunt, ‘I didn’t.’ 

‘... What?’

‘I didn't. Terminus isn’t… It’s not like the others, Corruption or Eye or the Twisting Deceit… Dying is just a part of accepting your patron fully, for the others. In my case, dying _ is _ my patron. Having that choice would negate the point of it, of accepting Death upon you. And I am. Dead, that is. No pulse, heart doesn’t beat, same as your body lying in that hospital room right now, just a walking body here to spread the good word of the End like some kind of skeleton missionary,’ his chuckle was humourless, ‘I didn’t even know what an entity was, before I died. Entirely normal death. How many people get stabbed in London each year? Well, a lot, it turns out. And I just kind of… accepted it. I just lay there, bleeding out because I couldn’t get my _ bloody _ wallet out fast enough, thinking about how ‘Well, it may as well go like this’, just another name lost on a list, not mattering to anyone, least of all my mother. And so Terminus grabbed me. It liked that, my… _ resignation _ , towards my fate. That I didn’t fight it, didn’t try to crawl my way back to consciousness, just lay down and took the hit, literally. And so here I am, working for the embodiment of demise and honestly? Enjoying it. I have power. I have _ purpose _. I’m the last thing a lot of people see before they die and I’m okay with that.’ 

Jon cleared his throat. ‘Statement ends.’ The tape recorder clicked off behind him. He hasn’t even realised it was there.

‘Wha- Did you- Was that my _ statement _ ? Did you _ compel me _?’ 

‘I… Suppose so.’ 

‘... _ I didn’t even know you could do that… _’ Martin muttered, mostly for himself and not in reply, but his tone wasn’t angry, just confusion bordering on incredulous. 

‘I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to, it was a genuine request for advice, not for your life story. Or-Well- Death story. I’m- Sorry, for that too, I suppose. Well, about, not for. To be thrown into a world like this, with no prior knowledge…’ he let himself trail off.

Martin smiled. ‘Don’t be. Same world, just more aware now. More fulfilled than I would have been otherwise. Wasn’t living for much, least I could die for something.’ 

The tides of nightmares washed over him again.

* * *

Their next few meetings are more casual, less deep and philosophical, more filling the time before they go their separate ways. 

Jon begins to look forward to them/

Well, of course he looks forward to them. A respite from the terror would never be denied, but it was starting to seem like they were becoming less a simple step back, and more something genuinely pleasant. 

He enjoyed Martin’s company. 

‘So did you have to kill the jumper?’ Jon asks, sitting cross legged and leaning back against the stable nothingness. 

‘What? Why would I have to-’

‘To get it here. I mean. You’re dead, I’m half dead, wouldn’t the jumper have to be dead too?’ 

‘I.. Never thought of it like that.’ 

‘So you didn’t.. I don’t know, set it on fire?’

‘A little Desolation for my taste, I’m afraid,’ Martin said, faux-grimacing. 

‘How’d you get it here, then? Genuinely?’ 

‘I just kind of… Willed it to be here, I suppose? I control this landscape, to a reasonable degree - not gonna be able to make any restaurants or libraries pop up, before you ask - so I wanted it to be here and it showed up.’ 

‘I take it I’m not really wearing it then.’ 

‘Still tucked in the back of a drawer at home, yup.’ 

The reminder was comforting, that this was Martin’s. A gift he’d been given on only their third, brief meeting, for no other reason than Martin was absurdly kind for an embodiment of expiration. 

‘You can have it, if you wake up,’ Martin continued, but his tone was quieter, more tentative. ‘Just an incentive. It’s my job to get you to either side, but between you and me I would be kinda sad if these conversations stopped?’ 

Something in Jon told him that what Martin had said was very selfish. That he was definitely not supposed to be influencing Jon’s decisions in such a personal manner, both from a professional standpoint and morally. He couldn’t really find it in him to care though. It was nice, to be wanted. 

‘I’ll consider it.’ 

He didn’t quite parse the implication that Martin intended to still visit him, when this was all over. 

* * *

‘You said home, before.’ 

Martin looks up with a ‘Hm?’ from where he was placing his checkers piece. A way to pass the time when Jon wasn’t feeling particularly talkative. They’d both felt chess with death was a little too on the nose, and even toned down Jon had insisted on taking the black tokens to avoid any undue metaphors. 

‘Last time. Week. Has it been a week? … Anway. You mentioned ‘home’. And I don’t- I don’t mean to _ pry _but-’ 

Martin interjected with a wry smile. ‘Well, we both know that’s a lie.’ 

Jon shot a glare at him over the table, but the malice was weak. ‘_ Thank you, Martin _ . What I meant was… Do you… _ Live? _’ 

Martin’s laughter caused his scowl to worsen, arms folding in childish petulance. ‘Well, obviously not, but you know what I mean. I just find the idea… Kind of laughable, really. The grim reaper has a house. ‘Death Walks Among Us’ and all that.’’ 

‘I do, actually,’ Martin said, a smile settling on his lips, ‘It’s… I mean I didn’t exactly acquire it through… _ legal _, means, but I have somewhere I stay.’ 

Jon snorted, ‘Well, there’s a story behind that.’

Martin raised an eyebrow, ‘You want a statement? Is that what this is about?’ 

Jon waved a hand at him, pushing the idea away when too awkward to confront it directly. ‘No, just tell me.’ 

‘Ah, okay then. But you can’t judge me on this, Mr Sandman.’ 

If Jon had been drinking, he would have choked on it. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ 

‘You give people dreams. If you can get away with giving me technically-incorrect-but-theme-fittting nicknames, two can play at it.’ 

Jon rolled his eyes in response. 

‘_ Anway _,’ and if Martin had a drink, he would have taken a well timed swig to avoid the awkwardness as he avoided Jon’s eyes, ‘I just kind of.. Took it. The apartment.’ 

‘_ You stole an apartment? _’ And Jon was not one you could often apply the term ‘guffawed’ to, but this was the closest to it he would likely ever get. 

‘I didn’t steal! He just- He died. My lot’s fault, maybe Banks or someone, whoever. Anyway, no body left behind, so I go in just to go and… Check, I suppose, make sure nothing more suspicious than usual is there. People actually get more freaked out, when they can’t find evidence. They have something to go on, if they find clues, something to spool on a theory or an investigation or a _ statement _. If there’s nothing there’s just… Hopelessness.’ He cleared his throat, clearly conscious of the tangent he’d disappeared down. ‘I just claimed it as my own, really. And don’t give me that look, it was nice! Rich guy, used to be some kind of low level politician, definitely took bribes so I didn’t feel so bad about it really. You try saying no to a penthouse with a roof garden and sliding glass doors when it’s just sitting there unoccupied.’

Jon ‘Hmm’d’. ‘Suppose I can’t really blame you for that.’ He faltered, before rushing out the question, ‘What did you do? Before that? Surely this wasn’t day one of death?’ 

‘I would just kind of.. Exist, really. Walk about London, find something to do to feed the ache in my chest carved out by my patron. And between those times, I just… Wouldn’t. Wouldn’t exist. It wasn’t sleep, wasn’t existing in here, in this state, I just kind of.. Stopped. Til I got dragged back out again to work.’ 

‘... And can you sleep?’ 

‘Sleep? Yeah. I don’t need to, but it’s… Nice. To feel that sense of routine again. Wake up with the sunrise and pretend everything is all right for a minute before I go out to terrorise the recently deceased.’ 

‘I don’t think I’ll get that, if I go back,’ Jon mumbled, somewhat self conscious of turning the conversation to his own troubles. ‘Just more dreams like this, infinite cycle.’ He supposed this was what Martin was here for, though. To talk him into making his decision. Guidance counsellor for eldritch horrors. It called to his mind some scenes from _ Beetlejuice _. He hadn’t been particularly partial to the film, but Georgie adored it, so for most of his university years he could quote scenes by heart the amount of times he’d begrudgingly watched it with her. 

‘I can’t do much about that, I’m afraid,’ Martin said, voice taking on that soft tone of sympathy that Jon might once have called pitying, before he knew better than to assign such a word to Martin. ‘But a wax museum did fall on you, so maybe night terrors isn’t too much a price to pay.’ 

‘I’d be a terrible partner,’ and the words surprised even him, only quite realising what he’d said after they were out of his mouth, tone trying it’s best to convey dry humour. He was never one to talk about that sort of thing, but maybe it was something between the easy freeness of the conversation, pulling deep thoughts from each’s lips, or the gentle reminder of Georgie nudging at the back of his mind, the last, and really only, relationship he’d had. 

Martin looked like he would almost choke on the swift change in conversation. His face seemed reluctant to redden, skin still as pale as the corpse that he was, but it made a damn good attempt. ‘I’m- Well. I never quite thought of it, that way. Not a huge dating pool for emissaries of fear, in my experience at least, but it’s… Probably somebody's something. What’s the quote, something about ‘sex after death?’’

Jon did not quite have the advantage of mortuary ready skin as Martin did, and he could feel his blood take full advantage of this, ears reddening as he stuttered, ‘That’s uh- No not quite what I meant. That was never really high on the priority list in the first place,’ and quieter still, _ ‘Not really on it at all _.’ 

‘Oh, god, sorry I didn’t mean to-’ 

‘No, no, it’s fine, you couldn’t have- Anyway. I just meant, probably not the most pleasant to sleep next to. No one quite wants to…’ And he said the word ‘cuddle’ like it had personally offended him, realising he’d probably never even used it before, ‘... someone who can rip out their trauma and view it on replay.’ 

‘You wouldn’t, though.’ And the confidence in Martin’s voice almost gave him hope in it. ‘We may do some… _ morally negative _ things, but you wouldn’t do that if you cared about them.’ 

Jon stifled a bitter laugh. ‘Wouldn’t I, though? Martin, I have no idea who I’m going to be when I get out of here. I have no idea _ what _I’m going to be. I can hardly promise to do no harm, I doubt it’s as simple as only hurting those I don’t know.’

Martin’s tone was sombre when he turned to look him in the eye. ‘Sometimes there aren’t good choices, or bad choices. Sometimes we’ve just got to make choices. To decide what we’d do to see another day through. And I’m not saying it’s…’ he gave a shallow laugh, ‘I’m not saying it’s what I’d recommend. But I don’t blame us, for what we do. I don’t want to be like… Like the Circus, or the Distortion, or that bug lady or anything. I just don’t regret being able to help those I can, and scare the shit out of those who deserve it.’ 

Jon remained silent, a contemplative nod in response, mulling over Martin’s words. 

Martin’s voice cracked, slightly, when he spoke up again. ‘Did you- You said going to be. Are you.. You’re going back?’ 

Jon shifted away under his gaze. ‘I… think so. Yes. Not yet but… Eventually.’ 

‘Oh… Well,’ Martin ghosted his hand over Jon’s, ‘I’ll be there when you do.’ 

* * *

Six months Jon had been in his sleeping state. Once a week he and Martin would grab what time they could, just talking, conversing gently with the angel of death who at this point Jon felt embodied one half of the title a far greater amount than the other. 

Until one day he showed up, and Jon was reminded how wholelly both he was, the true calling at his core. 

Spectral, Martin had called it once before, during their second meeting, a fleeting implication that Jon might see such a form some day, and one he was sure that Martin at the time had no real intention of seeing through. 

This was something Jon was entirely unprepared for though. Martin was facing away from him, dark robes cloaking the rest of his form, black fabric cascading down to where it didn’t quite touch the floor, and yet he could see no legs below. He was angled just away from him, so much that Jon doubted he could see him, but Jon could make out the angling of his jaw, sharp and cutting with no skin to cover it, his once rounded and soft features now harsh bone with flesh stripped away. 

‘...Martin?’ The words were out of his mouth before he even realised, tentative and tender but tinged with a fear he wished he hadn’t shown. Wished he hadn’t felt. 

The figure whirled on him, cloak billowing around him with the movement, and startled back slightly, though no movement occurred on the expressionless skull. ‘Jon.’ he more stated than said, words radiating from a mouth that remained closed, but shock still managed to permeate his voice. ‘I didn’t- You’re here already- You weren’t supposed to-’ As he finished his stuttering, his form seemed to flicker, and when Jon blinked he looked himself again, robe dissipated into the kind of long black cardigan Jon had come to expect from him, freckles returning to dust over his rounded cheeks. 

‘I’m so sorry, that must have been an.. Unpleasant sight.’ 

Jon started forward, conscious of how he’d flinched back. ‘No, no, don’t- Don’t apologise. I’m hardly going to be pleasant, when I’m covered in eyes or whatever the Beholding will bestow upon me.’ Hastily he added, ‘Not that you’re unpleasant! You just.. Seem to have that opinion of yourself. Incorrectly, I would say.’ He cringed at his own awkward phrasing. 

Martin gave a hollow laugh. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to say that. I’m supposed to embody the fear of death, I’m supposed to inspire fear.’ 

The softness in his own voice surprised him when he replied, ‘Martin, I honestly don’t think anything could make me afraid of you now. You’ve put up with me through, what I think I can confidently say, has been the worst few months of my life. Kept me sane, really. I don’t think some spooky robes and a skull for a face is going to put me off.’ 

Martin’s face softened, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. ‘That’s… Thank you, Jon. I don’t think you realise how much you’ve done for me, too. Most I meet in this line of.. I hesitate to call it ‘work’ but… They don’t stick around as long. Either far less indecisive than you, or I’ve managed to terrorise them enough for whatever crimes against life expectancy they’ve been trying to commit. You’ve been a constant and I’m just… I know I’ve made jokes about it, but I’m really hoping I can still visit you? After you make your choice? I know you’ll be busy, with, y’know, being the Archivist, but every now and then?’ 

Jon smiled, and it felt like the first proper time he had in years. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ 

He hesitated, before continuing; ‘Can I.. Do you mind if I… See it? The skull? Is it weird to call it that? I’m sorry just- You know what I mean.’ 

Martin laughed. ‘You can take an Archivist out of the archives but you can’t stop him asking questions.’ He seemed willing to comply though, moving over to sit next to Jon on that old familiar block. Jon himself hadn’t even been quite aware he was resting on it. 

He seemed nervous, hand running through his hair to push the curls aside, taking his place at Jon’s side. ‘It’s kind of.. Weird, I guess, to change between them, so maybe just look away for a second?’ 

Jon nodded, closing his eyes for a brief moment, before looking back. 

He hadn’t fully changed, this time. The hand that drummed nervously against his leg was skeletal, possessing a delicate fragility that shouldn’t have allowed for movement, and yet continued anyway. It disappeared into a familiar shirt sleeve though, not the dark robes he’d worn minutes earlier. The skull was… Unnerving. Everything about it, the sharp curves of the smoothed bone, the faint light behind empty eyes that fizzled static through his brain when he tried to focus on them, told of what should be terror running cold through his veins as he stared down the emblem of death. Instead it was just… It was Martin. Sweet and soft and kinder than anyone in his position should be, but containing that vengeful spark that reminded Jon of what darker side of his work this form usually pertained to. 

It was just Martin, when he delicately placed a hand to the side of his face, running one thumb over the smooth surface. 

It was just Martin when he leaned in, tentatively, and brushed a kiss over the space under his eye, solid and perfect for the brief moment his lips rested there before leaning back in unsurety, not in the rightness of his actions but of how warranted they were, despite his evidence and hope that he was right. 

And it was just Martin when soft lips pressed firmly back against his, leaning forward to place a solid and warm hand on his shoulder, another cupping the back of his head and running through his hair. 

When they broke apart, Martin laughed airily, face redder than Jon had thought possible, ears tinged with a pink and freckles highlighted against the backdrop. 

‘That was- Uh-’ Jon stammered.

‘Good?’ Came a suggestion as response.

Jon nodded, with probably too much enthusiasm for the tone, ‘Yes. Good. Uh. Very good.’ He cringed again at his own awkwardness, heart still attempting to beat its way out of his chest. ‘I think I’m in love with you?’ he casually tacked on to the end, because go big or go home, he supposed. 

Martin just leaned in to kiss him again, slower and with less hesitance, both hands burying themselves in his dark, silver streaked hair as he rested his own against Martin’s sides, soft and warm in a way that made Jon just want to hold onto him forever.

‘I think I’m ready to wake up now,’ he said, words almost buried against his angel’s neck as he pressed his cheek gently to his collar. 

‘Back to the living you go,’ whispered Death with a smile.   


**Author's Note:**

> I'm @radiosandrecordings on tumblr and @elfgrunge on twitter!


End file.
